


Tired

by applecameron



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: episode ending, variant, episode 1x12 ("Internal Affairs")
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Tired

His head gives a pang after all that, too much welling up in one session – this guy's a good therapist, too bad he's going to jail – and now Simon's got a gun pointed right at him.

Nope. He didn't predict that. 

Off his game? Or was Simon genuinely unpredictable? 

There's shouting, behind him. His backup.

He talks, distracts, and then takes his chance.

Wins.

The adrenaline comedown is intense, or maybe his reserves are too depleted, because he doesn't quite remember leaning over instead of following JT and Dani out the door, bracing his hands just above his knees, he's just there, arms shaking with exhaustion, and Gil is saying something that sounds like swearing, trying to hold him up. Gravity is calling. It's like an electric shock all his own, and he follows it down, down, down.

* * *

There's an EMT taking his blood pressure as he sits on the sofa in Gil's office. Malcolm lets him. Nods along to whatever is said to him. He doesn't remember being walked into the office. Or half-carried. Or whatever. Gil's overcoat is draped over him. It smells like Gil. It's a comforting scent. 

_You fainted. Yeah, you._

He doesn't quite believe it. _Fainted? Him?_ Face off against serial killers, crush his own hand to escape, Bright? That him? But he's _fine_. 

A uniformed officer hands Gil a piece of paper and he glances at it, mutters, “gotcha”, then makes a call, gives Dani an address. Malcolm can hear the rise and fall of her voice, then a question-mark-type sound, distant and small. “Just a little faint. I've got my eye on him right now.” Then makes a couple calls to local law enforcement, clearly followup to some previous conversation. Some previous conversation Malcolm hadn't even heard. Huh.

He drifts, exhausted, head back, warm under Gil's coat, until Gil gives him a little tug and says, “let's head out. They've got her.” 

“Good.” He answers the question in Gil's eyes, those safe, safe eyes. Or tries to. “Tired.” 

Not a complete answer, but factually true. God, he's _tired_. 


End file.
